


Five Hundred Variations of Sugar and Butter

by umisabaku



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umisabaku/pseuds/umisabaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Himuro tries to bake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Hundred Variations of Sugar and Butter

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of one word + pairing prompt I was doing over at tumblr. MuraHimu + cookies was requested by @short-story-shorter. This was ended up being long enough that I figured I'd put it here on it's own.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Comments and kudos are lovely =D

“I’m supposed to what?” Himuro asks, really hoping he misheard.

“Make cookies. The Basketball Club is going to have a bake sale for the School Festival. We’re going to sell the cookies individually marked by the club member that made them—Coach’s idea. We’re going to price yours way up, stud,” Fukui explains, slapping Himuro on the back, “Since all the girls are going to want yours anyway.”

“But—” Himuro starts and then stops. He’s not sure how to continue his objections.

“Shouldn’t be a problem for you, yeah? You do all that fancy cooking. Better make lots; Coach is serious about marking yours up to an obscene price. We can probably afford new uniforms for the next couple years on what we can make off your cookies. We’re counting on you, Ace!”

“Right,” Himuro says weakly. “No problem at all.”

*

Himuro looks at the charred bits of rock and manfully does not cry.

“What the hell? I thought you were a good cook?” Liu asks, the only one around the kitchen dorms to witness Himuro’s shame.

“I _am_ a good cook,” Himuro says, “I am an _excellent_ cook.” He waves his hand at the sad black atrocities before him, “ _This_ is not _cooking._ This is _baking._ The two are very different. I’ve never been good at baking.”

“How is it different?” Liu asks incredulously. “You just mix ingredients together.”

“Cooking is an art form,” Himuro says hotly, “Cooking is the blending of a wide disparate group of flavors into something beautiful. Cooking is all about finding the right combination into the right pattern—it’s art and science blending together to bring happiness to people. Baking is just five hundred variations on sugar and butter.”

“So it should be easy,” Liu says.

Himuro stifles the urge to cry again. “You know how some people have a black thumb when it comes to gardening? Like, it doesn’t matter what kind of plant it is, as soon as they touch it the plant dies?”

Liu looks at the charred lumps again. “So what you’re saying is you have the black thumb of sugar?”

Himuro sadly nods and tosses out his first attempt. “I’ll get the hang of it by morning.”

*

After batch number five Liu says, “You know Himuro, you can always just _buy_ cookies and say you made them.”

“I will not be defeated by eggs and sugar,” Himuro says darkly. “Besides, everyone will be able to tell if they’re store bought.”

“This is getting sad, man.”

“If you’re not going to help, go buy me more supplies.”” Himuro says, tossing out his latest defeat and starting again.

*

“Murochin, these are terrible,” Murasakibara says, munching on batch eighteen. He had wandered into the dorm kitchen around three in the morning where he found Himuro, definitely not crying. Liu had long since abandoned him to his pursuits.

“Then don’t eat them,” Himuro says, blowing his nose into a paper towel. This was actually the closest he’d come to success. These cookies, at least, weren’t black. They were also recognizably cookies, so that was something. They were just… sort of flat and hard to chew on and a little burnt on the bottom.

“Eh. They’re not as bad as Sacchin’s.” Murasakibara pops another cookie in his mouth. Himuro winces at the sound of Murasakibara’s chewing—he’s justifiably concerned the younger boy is going to break a tooth on the cookie. “No, seriously, Atsushi, don’t eat these, they’re awful. We can’t sell these.”

Murasakibara doesn’t look too deterred. He takes another one of Himuro’s terrible creations and eats carefully. It’s the nicest thing the other boy has ever done. “Why are you trying so hard anyway, Murochin?” Murasakibara asks.

“They’re counting on me!” Himuro defends. “They want to sell my cookies to fans! I can’t let the club down. Or the potential people who are going to buy these. Have you made your batch already?”

“Eh? No way, I’m not doing that. Coach can’t make me.”

That was pretty much to be expected. “All the more reason why I have to keep doing this,” Himuro says, mustering up his strength. “We need at least one Ace on this team to sell cookies.”

He starts on batch nineteen.

*

Himuro wakes up to the smell of something incredibly sweet. He’s a little disoriented—he’s not sure where he is or what’s happening, but his back is sore and he’s wearing last night’s clothes.

A quick glance around is enough to bring the memories crashing back down. So many burned cookies. So. Many.

He must have fallen asleep slumped over the kitchen table. Something still smells heavenly.

“Atsushi?” he says, wondering if he’s still dreaming. Because there is Murasakibara, hair tied back, taking out a batch of cookies from the oven.

“Morning, Murochin. You passed out a couple of hours ago in dough. I thought you were going to die.”

Himuro touches his face and pulls back the remnants of dried cookie dough from his cheek.

“Did you… make those?” he says, staring at Murasakibara holding the tray of cookies.

Murasakibara puts the tray down in front of Himuro, drawing his attention to the plate near him that already has a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies cooling.

“Did you make _all_ of these?” Himuro exclaims.

“You just follow the instructions. It’s simple,” Murasakibara says, shrugging.

Himuro picks up one of the cookies and bites into it. Warmth and chocolate fill his mouth and a groan escapes. “Oh my God. Oh my God these are _amazing._ ” There buttery warmth is doing strange things to him; the cookies are so good he has this intense urge to start making out with Murasakibara. “This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Murasakibara doesn’t meet his gaze, blushing faintly. He turns away and says, “Now Murochin has cookies to sell.”

“What? These are _yours._ I can’t take credit for your work.”

“No way, I don’t want people knowing I did this. They’ll ask me to do stuff all the time then.”

“But—”

“They’ll sell better as yours,” Murasakibara points out.

Himuro would ordinarily refuse to claim anyone else’s work as his. But as he munches on his second cookie he thinks about what it would be like of other people knew Murasakibara was some sort of baking savant. Okamura might never leave Murasakibara alone, and Himuro would have to share this secret with everyone else.

And he really, really likes the idea of having Murasakibara’s baking all to himself.

“These really are delicious,” Himuro says slyly. “Have you tried them?” And before Murasakibara can reply drags the boy down by his shirt collar and kisses him.

Yes. He definitely wants to keep this taste a secret for now.


End file.
